Revenant Dreams
by WritersAlliance
Summary: Eight years ago, three lives were destroyed. But time is slow to heal, and one man tries to bridge the gap between pain and healing. Featuring Seguchi Tohma, Uesugi Eiri and Kitazawa Yuki. Drama, Romance, Religious Aspects contained within.
1. Apparitional Psyche

Reverent Dreams

Chapter One: Apparitional Psyche

Death is nothing at all.  
I have only slipped away into the next room.  
I am I and you are you,  
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name,  
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used.  
Put no difference in your tone,  
wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow,  
laugh as we always laughed  
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.

Pray smile, think of me, pray for me.  
Let my name be ever the household word  
that it always was.  
Let it be spoken without effort,  
without the trace of a shadow in it.

Life means all that it ever meant,  
it is the same as it ever was.  
There is unbroken continuity,  
why should I be out of mind  
because I am out of sight?  
I am waiting for you  
somewhere very near   
just around the corner.  
All is well

Henry Scott Holland 1847-1918  
Canon of St Paul's Cathedral

---

_I never cared about models. Rock stars and porn gods annoyed me. I didn't want the perfect, giggling little boy or the big breasted, curvy female._

_I abhorred fame and the attitudes it gave a person. I hated the spotlight._

_I wanted simplicity. My brother, my lover, my books, and maybe a packet of cigarettes._

_Everything else was un-needed trappings, pretty baubles to ensnare the crowd._

_Beauty is only skin deep, and what I was after was so much more._

_Until him._

_A exquisite, shining, perfect angel, sent down from the heavens to debauch my body and trap my mind._

_And with him, he brought an apprentice._

_How could one, weak, single man resist two golden beings? No one could, and anyone who begs to differ is a dirty liar. But life had this…quirk about it. It never works out as you intended it to. And things go wrong, so very, very wrong._

_In the end, I didn't resist. I succumbed and fell. So, so far down. Every time I think of it I want to either cry or vomit. I know he does, both of them._

_It's been…five…ten…years? Time is rather slow here, everything rushing, rushing but it goes right past you, until you lose all concept of what is what and where is where._

_I heard a legend once, when I was a child. It told of the most perfect, most glorious place. There were colours there that you could never imagine, tastes that were unlike anything you could have experienced or dreamed of. Thoughts, feelings, all of it…absolute perfection._

_But only the pure could go there. Those with no sin, no pain._

_Instead, if you had a stain, you were bound to the earth, until someone freed you. And if you committed a sin against another…who would want to?_

_So I'm here, always here, watching and staring and…waiting. The legend got one thing wrong though, I'm not cruel and vengeful, taking my wrath out on whomever I meet. I can't meet, I can't even jerk off._

_Nope, I'm not cruel, just tired…and sad. And every time they visit me, alone or together, I get sadder and even more tired._

_I just want to speak with him, one last time._

TBC


	2. Day of Remembrance

**Chapter Two: Day of Remembrance**

_The faithful have betrayed before, why not betray again?_

_For trust be constant changing: first pow'r, next fear, and then-_

_Do you know your followers? How true do loyalties lie?_

_'Tis easy to judge a foe, but a traitor- I dare not try._

_A friend ought to be reliable, but if they were proved not,_

_Would there e'er be a day when the past could be forgot?_

--

Tohma stopped short of the front door just as it slammed in his face, a short burst of wind produced by the violent motion brushing against his smiling cheeks. It was like a practiced dance by now, his and Eiri's relationship, and Tohma could execute the steps in his sleep.

That was why he knew to stop and stand just so far from the door at just the right moment.

Through the thin wood of the door he was nosed up against, he heard the sound of keys dropping on a hard surface, a kick of something against the wall, and then silence. That was his cue to reach for the doorknob and ease it open slowly, inviting himself in without knock or ceremony.

Tohma would never point it out to Eiri, but he knew Eiri didn't want to keep him out due to the fact that Eiri could have easily lock the door to keep him out, but never did.

The smile on his face never faltered; he thought Eiri's little tantrums were adorable. Well practiced, determining which tantrums were real and which were artificial was a mere step and pirouette. Often, Eiri's anger was a defense mechanism, a shield, to scare people and keep them at a distance Eiri could feel safe and secure with.

Because Tohma knew this, he never let it hurt his feelings when Eiri shut up him out said cruel things. No matter what, Tohma would forgive Eiri anything.

Closing the front door behind him with a soft click, he followed the familiar trail down the hallway to the study, where he knew Eiri had vanished to the moment he stepped into his apartment.

This door too remained unlocked, but Tohma knew it would be suicide to open this one up; it would be wise to announce his intentions to enter and even wait for permission to be let in. The study was Eiri's safe zone. As weird as that might seem to people, being alone inside of this room afforded Eiri more peace than he could find anywhere else. Tohma would never invade that.

… Eiri would probably throw something at his head if he tried.

"Eiri?" he called through the door softly, placing a hand against the warm wood as he waited. Listening for a moment, his ears caught only a silence that was so thick he could feel it. "Eiri, you know he didn't mean it."

As much as Tohma hated to stick up for Shuichi, he was soothed by the fact that he wasn't doing it for Shuichi, but for Eiri.

It had been only a short 20minutes ago that the three of them had stood together inside of the NG parking garage. Since the raining season had begun, Shuichi had managed to 'convince' Eiri to pick him up every day after work so that he wouldn't have to walk through the wet weather. Tohma believed that Shuichi had used the excuse that the rain would make him sick, which would inevitably lead to many days spent in bed at home, during which time Eiri would be completely responsible for his well being. Determining the lesser of two evils, Eiri had relented to the fact that he would rather run out and pick Shuichi up every day rather than deal with him all day long.

The arrangement had worked out surprisingly well at first. Every day, Shuichi would leave work with Tohma at his heels, and every day Eiri would be waiting in the same spot. The moment Shuichi slipped into the car, Eiri would peel off and race away, barely acknowledging Tohma waving from where he stood. Unknown and unfortunate for Shuichi, this particular day was the anniversary of the worst day of Eiri's life. Naturally, Tohma already knew this, but how was Shuichi to k now? Eiri wasn't one to confide such things, no matter how much he dreaded to open his eyes, or how much his suffer could be eased if he just let the people around him help.

Eiri had a stubbornness and a penchant for suffering, so Tohma spent all day on the phone trying to get in touch with him. He called relentlessly, every spare moment spent punching numbers and listening to ringing that was cut short each time by the click and command of the answering machine.

Tohma left a message every time.

He wanted to speak to Eiri if only to let him know that he cared, that he was there if Eiri needed anyone even if Eiri could never admit to himself that he did. Tohma had no qualms against playing the doting, over protective role if Eiri could suffer to give in for one second and let Tohma stop those prickling little demons for moments at a time.

From the moment Eiri arrived, it was a steady spiral downward.

One second Shuichi was snuggling Eiri's side like a kitten who had been sure that he'd finally been abandoned as Eiri flung a cigarette butt away. Usually, Eiri was pretty good at tolerating Shuichi's rapacious affection, but today he was on edge and reacted severely to it. Tohma could see Eiri wasn't in the mood to be touched, but Shuichi could never see that. Eiri snapped at Shuichi and shoved him, which was still a fairly normal interaction between the two of them, as Shuichi's instantaneous emotional reaction. Eiri's poor mood made him more than a little less tolerant to Shuichi's sniffling, and to Shuichi's vehement declarations of Eiri's cruelty. When Eiri requested none too gently that Shuichi "shut the fuck up," Shuichi instead began to wail even louder.

Tohma's inward cringing had that moment coiled into helpless dread.

He tried to intervene to restore some semblance of normalcy between the tumultuous couple, and had remained un-phased when Eiri threw an insult at him. By this time, Shuichi was beginning to sense that something was different than normal. Eiri was always rough, always abrupt, but the tension in the air was dangerous.

They both knew that the more Eiri hurt, the more he tried to hurt them.

With tears still in his eyes, Shuichi inquired about Eiri's anger, but had received as a reply another low, "shut the fuck up."

But, Shuichi never shut up. Tohma didn't know he knew how to shut up.

In fact, he always did the opposite.

The tears began again, this time with another declaration that Eiri was the meanest and most thoughtless man in the world. Shuichi was being his normal emotional self, and he didn't think of the repercussions of telling Eiri that he never cared about the feelings of others.

That was when the car door slammed and Eiri's car peeled away, bright taillights vanishing in the distance. The two of them were left in silence, and Shuichi was too stunned to notice the accusatory gaze thrown at him by Tohma.

Still, Shuichi didn't know.

No one had ever told him that this was the day that Kitazawa had died.

Shuichi ran away to find Hiro to beg a ride home, and Tohma had immediately followed Eiri in his own car. This would at least give Tohma a few minutes with Eiri before Shuichi burst in begging Eiri's forgiveness. Tohma was even fine with speaking to the door as long as he knew Eiri could hear him from inside his private sanctum.

"Eiri, let me help you."

Nothing.

"Eiri… would you call me later, please? Or answer the phone when I call?" Tohma was so very worried. At home, Mika probably paced around, her hands itching to grab the phone and dial until she spoke to her brother or husband. When he got home, Tohma knew he would face an assault of questions from his wife, and he was almost regretful that he would be able to give her no comfort or answers.

Eiri made no sound, gave no promise.

With a sigh, Tohma stepped away from the door, slipping a few inches back down the hall. It pained him to know that inside of the room, Eiri sat in pain. He was in a world that no one could reach, so deep in his own personal hell that Tohma just couldn't dig far enough to pull him out. With every breath, Eiri sunk deeper. There was no helping him now; Tohma felt like all he could do was hold Eiri's chin up just above the waterline to keep him from drowning, but he still struggled on the brink.

He'd never give up, though.

There were times when the guilt in him was so great that Tohma felt like he was suffocating in it. Every time he looked at Eiri, at that closed expression and cold demeanor, his remorse peaked sharp and white hot. The "if only"s that poured through Tohma's head were enough to make sure he'd never resolve his own shame.

If only he'd known. If only he'd paid attention and seen the signs. If only he'd come home five minutes earlier. If only he'd listened better. If only he'd saved Eiri when Eiri needed him the most.

While his guilt threatened to do him in, Tohma would not give in to it. He had to be strong. He had to be the strength that Eiri had lost a long time ago and had never regained. If Eiri needed to hurt him to feel even a moment of peace, Tohma would lovingly take on himself every bit of abuse. Yes, the pain was worth it if it meant Eiri did not have to feel it. He would be Eiri's rock even if every day broke his heart into smaller pieces. It was the least he could do to make it up to Eiri.

_TBC_


	3. Aniversary Waltz

_**Chapter Three: Anniversary Waltz**_

Mistakes are a part of being human. Appreciate your mistakes for what they are: precious life lessons that can only be learned the hard way. Unless it's a fatal mistake, which, at least, others can learn from. --Al Franken

---

_It must be my anniversary. _

_As I said, time has no meaning for the dead...but there is one moment, one day I will always know. It's an instinct, like breathing. _

_The blood is still rich on the floor. I can smell it, thick, choking. I know the blood is actually faded, long soaked into the wood and scrubbed but to me it's still as fresh and clear as the moment I fell into it._

_Just as clear are the memories of his smiling face, running through the living room to greet me, of the angel behind him, glaring...he had an incredible glare, rather arousing if one stared long enough (and it didn't kill you)._

_Once I thought I could reach out and touch him, the memories were that crisp and clear. I tried so hard to reach out, to take his hand. But I just went through him, just as he goes through me._

_Never connecting._

_He was...so beautiful, before the end. He truly did shine. Talented, brilliant, so smart. Smarter then me I will confess. And they expected me to teach him. What could I teach an apprentice angel? What did I know that he didn't?_

_I guess I could...and did teach him the darker side of life, the things that dimmed his brilliance._

_Have you ever seen a dark halo? It's a negative image of light, light in the center, dark circling it with even lighter bits around the edges._

_He has one, I can see it. If my brother was here he would say that was his 'aura' or some other metaphysical bullshit that kid is spouting off with. Honestly, what a hippie._

_I hate my anniversary. I can never escape the memories. Always replaying them, always re-enacting the moments. The gunshot echoes in my head._

_It's horrific, depressing and kind of boring after so much time._

_At least, I assume time has passed. He looks older, they both do._

_I wonder how much time has passed. Gods I miss him, especially today. If only I could just reach out and touch him. Just hold him in my arms one more time and take all that pain away._

_I want to do that so badly._

_I almost expect him to be here, waiting for me. He stood here once, staring at the stained floor, talking to me. Screaming at me. Those green green eyes burning._

_Beautiful jade, even as it burned._

_I listened to every word he said, everything he screamed, every whispered sob. I listened to it all until he passed out on the floor, emotionally worn down._

_And then I watched over him, wanting to desperately to take away all that pain. _

_Eiri's never returned. I'm not sure if that makes me glad or not._


	4. Melting Reality

**Chapter Four: Melting Reality**

_There are no glass slippers, only poisoned apples. –Unknown _

Eiri stared in silence out of the surrounding fog of cigarette smoke, breathing in and out the toxic cloud. All was finally quiet, Seguchi's annoyingly doting presence finally gone, no doubt heading towards home mulling over in his mind what to tell Mika when he walked through the door and she demanded answers and he'd have to admit with remorse and guilt that he had none to give.

All that was left in Eiri's small, suffocating world was himself, the tight walls, and the poison air.

This was just the way that he liked it.

Self-fulfilling prophecy or not, Eiri wasn't the slightest bit surprised that today had turned into a complete disaster. Regardless of and apart from the meaning of what today really was, that didn't excuse Shuichi from being a complete moron.

Shuichi lacked any useful instinct-- a turtle would sense danger before Shuichi picked up the slightest hint of it. There was so much he should have known that he was completely unaware of. Maybe Eiri was spoiled by Tohma's incessant pandering, by his willingness to jump any and every hurdle that Eiri provided him.

Eiri felt like every breath he took was another domino falling. From start to end, he just existed until everything around him was in ruin and nothing was recognizable. In the end, everything was destroyed and he was left untouched, un-phased. From the moment he'd found himself kneeling in pooling blood, which was still warm and shimmering with the life that it was draining from the limp body on the floor, his spiral was downward.

When he thought back to everything that had happened before that moment, it didn't feel like part of his life. Memories of his childhood were detached like they were something he read in a book but hadn't experienced for himself. Instead, he felt like he had been born that awful second while the other died, faded away, withering until every last bit of it was gone.

Eiri could even remember the moment that last bit of it had finally disappeared from inside of him.

Afterwards, Seguchi shuttled him back to Tokyo as fast as he could. He must have slept a lot as they traveled, though, because he could barely remember anything from the time he got on the plane to when he was woken up in a car in front of his family's temple. Then again, maybe he was aware the entire time-- Eiri had been so numb, it was hard for him to tell that he was even awake when he was, even though he didn't sleep for a while. Reality was too distant and far away. His insomnia had been terrible-- there was no way to stop the nightmares.

On another one of those sleepless nights, Eiri lay motionless and awake in bed. His eyes were trained to the wall, watching the shadows dance across it, branches outside cutting the moonlight and making it sway. His father was praying, the low hum of the chants was unmistakable. Somewhere water was running, probably Mika cleaning up from yet another dinner that Eiri's place remained empty.

Swaying between numbness and a pain so intense that Eiri wanted to die or else go insane, he curled his knees to his chest. Eiri hated to close his eyes at moments like this because everything ugly and bad was imprinted on them and flashed in one horrible second every time he did. Seeing how… normal things were around him, how unaffected and calm, when he was dying inside filled him with hatred for everything.

There had to be something other than this pain.

There had to be some way to stop hurting.

But, the only thing Eiri was capable of feeling was pain.

It would be better not to feel anything at all. Ever.

How hard could it? Surely it had to be easier than enduring this. It could be severed, killed, and he would be a murderer again. But, it didn't matter, not anymore. Nothing had to matter to him ever again.

Like someone was slowly turning a dial and closing him up, he felt the tension in his stomach ease, lessen, grow lighter. And just like that, it was gone.

But, the one thing that Eiri could never get rid of was the anger. Was he angry at himself? Yuki? Was it what had happened that guided his rage? Or was it bitterness that this was what had to become of him to survive?

Whatever the cause, the reasons, this was his result.

It was a survival mechanism.

That was still what it was, even now.

Grinding his cigarette into the ashtray, Eiri rose from his desk. Walking to the window, quick, solid jerks closed the heavy drapes and plunged him into a faded daylight darkness. Leaning against the cloth, still gripping the ends, he pressed his forehead to the cool glass through it.

Secretly, Eiri wondered what he would have been like now if things hadn't gone so wrong. He knew there wouldn't be those nightmares, or those regrets, or his bitterness, or this much boiling anger inside of him. Life wasn't fair, and he felt like he was the prime example. People called him lucky because he was good looking, talented, and popular, but Eiri couldn't see it. All of that was veiled behind a shadow that he couldn't blink away. It just didn't have the same meaning for him that it had for them, he supposed.

With the apartment empty, it was safe to venture out. Eiri was in no mood for Shuichi's pathetic expressions and apologies. Heading for the fridge, Eiri pulled out a beer and opened it with the door still open to guzzle it down. When the can was half drained, he stepped back and finally closed the door, taking the remainder of his cold beer back with him to his bedroom.

But not before turning off the phone.

Eiri had expected Shuichi to have burst through the door by now. Usually, when the kid fucked up, he raced home to try to make it better (even if his attempts did make things a hell of a lot worse). Maybe that meddling friend of his convinced him that it was best to give Eiri a bit of space.

Falling onto the bed, he gave a soft grunt and ran his hand through his hair. Keeping his forehead resting in the palm of his hand, Eiri reached over and put the beer on the table next to the bed, pushing aside the alarm clock to make room for it within arms reach.

Dropping down flat, pulling his legs up onto the bed, Eiri draped an arm over his eyes to shield out any light. He wanted to block out everything, not just the sunlight, not just the noise or the annoying people. Eiri wanted everything to be gone.

Everything he did was to keep the images from his head. Drinking one beer after the other seemed to numb his brain enough, but even that didn't work all of the time. It was all too easy to close his eyes and see everything flash like a movie reel that he couldn't shut off. All he could do was watch it again and again, reliving every moment.

It could have been different.

The thought had come to him now and again that he should have made a different choice-- if only he'd not fought back, this would all be different. If he'd let them… then he would have one bad memory, but nothing like this. It would be like sacrificing one bad thing for another, but the lesser of two evils.

Because everyone would still be alive, and with a new set of regrets.

Rolling over in bed, Eiri stared at the condensation drops dripping from his beer can. It made him remember something. He'd seen this, something like water running down dark blue. That's right, it was a window pane. On their way home on the air plane, it had been raining as they took off. Eiri had a hazy memory of staring at that window pane, imagining that outside the world was melting and leaving only an infinity of nothing behind. Just darkness.

It had made him relax to think that, too, because it meant that everyone would feel like he was feeling. Never again would he have to watch another careless, happy smile and wonder why he couldn't feel that way anymore.

They all had to hurt just like he did.

Even Yuki. He didn't deserve to be dead when everyone else was fucked up because of what he did. This was Yuki's mistake and he was the only one who got to escape it. That bastard should be the one lying in bed, staring at a beer can, thinking about the world melting. Instead, that son of a bitch got an easy out.

On Yuki's tombstone was a message hoping his spirit was gone. Eiri wanted the opposite.

If there was such a thing as karma, why should someone have to pay for it in the next life and get off free in the one they fucked up in?

It made him think of something he had read once. Some old pointless legend said that spirits who had wronged people before death were stuck in between worlds and could only be free when the person who had wronged them prayed for them to be released. And then, if they wanted to shake off the seriously fucked up karma backlash waiting for them, they had to make amends.

Eiri thought he deserved fucking amends.

"I want you alive," he told the beer can, speaking to the silence and the stillness and the ghosts of his regrets around him. "I want you to see what you did. You should have to pay for what you did." All those fucking Gods that ever religion spoke about and prayed to should listen to THAT.

_TBC_


	5. Delusions of Existance

**Chapter Five: Delusions of Existence**

But penance need not be paid in suffering...It can be paid in forward motion. Correcting the mistake is a positive move, a nurturing move. --Barbra Hall

_I wonder if I could see him, to venture away from this..._

**PAIN!**

Pain ripped through him, his mouth opening in a soundless scream, eyes wide as wave after wave of the most intense pain he had ever felt assaulted his formless body. Memories crashed into his mind, a smiling face intermixed with soft skin. Perfectly boyish hips, satin smooth skin sliding beneath his fingertips. Tears, laughter, pain, and chocolate kisses.

He fell to his knees, vomiting, blood and bile mixing, splashing across the stained wood floor as he squeezed his eyes shut, crying out, whispering a mantra to rid himself of the memories torturing him.

Silken brown hair, shining golden strands, emerald fire, dancing pink plush. Rose red lips, parted, panting breaths ghosting over his skin. Heat, silk fire, binding flesh.

He vomited again, repeatedly, until collapsing into the filth left behind, hand clenching weakly at the floor before giving up, darkness claiming him.

It was only a couple hours until light returned to the figure on the floor, first slowly, poking at his consciousness, before slamming into him, causing brown eyes to shoot open, followed by the crumbled body rushing to a vertical position.

And then promptly back into a horizontal one as his head swam. Yuki groaned and put a hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut. A minute later the eyes jerked open again and Yuki sat up, slower this time, staring around him.

He carefully, hesitantly touched the floor, before slamming his fist into it, cursing as pain shot up his arm. He touched his wet and stained shirt, wrinkling his nose at the smell rising up from it. Rubbing his fingers together, feeling the wet slime between them he stared down, ripping open the shirt.

A pure, unmarred chest stared back at him. The gaping bullet hole he remembered was missing, not even a scar left to mark it's passing. He shifted, reaching behind him, trying to feel a spot on his back that was just out of reach. He clearly remembered feeling the bullet rip through his shoulder blade upon it's exit.

"Ho...wha...fuck I gotta take a piss." He jumped to his feet and into the bathroom, taking care of the needs one has upon waking up, particularly after one has been deceased for eight years. As he washed his hands he stared at the mirror above the sing, studying every detail of his face, every mark, every scratch.

He knew them all, and could probably re-count them in his sleep. The dead look in his eyes was different, new. And rather scary.

He left the bathroom and the sight in the mirror behind, instead taking a seat on the couch and putting his chin in his hand, staring at the scene of his murder. He had no idea what was going on or why, but he could feel the heart beating in his chest, the couch under his body...the sheer LIFE flowing through him.

Yuki Kitazawa was dead...and yet...here he was.

This was rather one for hard to grasp.

"I need money." he muttered, voice weak and scratchy, causing him to jump at the sound of it. But the fact remained, he didn't have it and he needed it.

"How does one make a bit of money quickly?" It was a question he had been trying to figure out since he was fifteen and his parents died, leaving behind Yoshiki and Himself.

Apparently, the awnser was not to sell your sixteen year old student.

"Vinny..." A smile curled over Yuki's lips and he stood, heading for the door. He had a man to see about a powdered gift from the gods.

It was a week before he had the cash. A week of doing ugly things for ugly people who said nothing and of whom no questions were asked. But he had the money, and a passport with his name and picture, even if everything else was a lie.

And a plane ticket to a world he had never seen but had heard of in whispered conversations under soft covers and dark lights.

Japan.

His father's home, his angel's country...his sin's residence.

He didn't' know why he was here, or why air filled his lungs, but he had eight years to think of what he would do, should do...had to do.

And now he could.

The flight was long, boring and rather nerve wracking. The people around him laughing and talking, driving him slowly insane with the voices and chatter and sheer HUMANITY. He had discovered, in the week working for Vinny and his crew, that he hated people. They made him itchy and uncomfortable. He wanted to be invisible again, free to exist without anyone else interfering with that existence.

But humans were intrusive, noisy bastards.

The landing at the Narita International Airport was a blessing, even if they did have to circle the damn thing fifty times (he counted), waiting for a slot. He disembarked as quickly as possible, just barley restraining himself from shoving some old lady out of his way as he headed for and through customs, eager to get ANYWHERE where he could be alone.

One cab ride and a fight later and he was safely cocooned in a cheap business hotel room, curled up on his bed, body giving off tiny shudders from the people around him. He had asked the front desk what would be the best way to go about finding someone and she handed him a slip of paper with a website address on it. He stared at the paper, blinking at the letters, wondering what the hell a Google was.

It hadn't taken long for Yuki to figure out the answer though, and as he played with the site the woman had given him he thought of what he was here for, what he was trying to do. To make amends was a big thing, even more so for something this horrific. He had doubts he could do it, even more so as he couldn't think of how to track down the boy he had hurt so long ago. Eight year. Anything could have happened to him in that time. He could have moved or died or gotten a sex change and now went by the name "Erika LeAblebe".

But...there was ONE person he could find. One person who would never change, never be that far out of sight...and would probably kill him the moment he attempted to speak to him. But Tohma would also know how to find Eiri.

And so Yuki started his search...and found he had allotted a hell of a lot more time then he needed judging by the number of results that came up when he typed in 'Seguchi Tohma' in Google.

Fan sites, fan listings, fan fiction (he was so going to look at that later), image galleries...everything someone could hope to want about the tiny golden keyboardist.

Including an address. For one Tohma Seguchi, President of N-G Records.

Today, was a very lucky day.

He copied down the address and paid for his time at the Internet cafe, hailing a taxi the second he stepped out of the doors. He climbed in and gave the address, leg jiggling nervously as he watched the city pass him by.

He hoped he would still be alive to enjoy it after this meeting.

The building was enormous, towering up into the sky like a fortress of old, made of steel, glass and pure intimidation. At least, that was how it felt to Yuki as he swallowed, staring at it. Taking a deep breath (still amazed he could in all honestly), he gathered his courage, wishing for a strong whiskey as he stepped through the electronic doors, past the security and into the elevator.

Tohma, snob that he was, would have placed his offices at the top, this Yuki was sure of. He hit the button for the top floor and collapsed against the wall as the door shut, watching the numbers light up as he moved up the floors, his heart pounding.

He would have chickened out if this hadn't been for Eiri. And so long as he kept that thought in his mind, he wouldn't' run screaming back to the street. Hopefully.

The elevator dinged and he stepped out, trying to appear more confident then he really was, glancing around at the spacious lobby where Tohma kept people waiting and squirming. No one was around, and the secretary's desk across the lobby was empty, a relief for Yuki who had no idea how to approach getting Tohma to see him.

He was dead, after all.

He glanced at the desk as he started past it, then backtracked, spotting schedule on the computer screen. He backtracked and glanced at it, reading the entries in what was apparently Tohma's schedule. Seeing that there was a block of time marked out, including the current hour, he clicked on it and smiled, reading the time marked out for 'personal'. Which meant Tohma was goofing off in his office. Perfect.

The schedule read that he had two hours of 'personal' time. Two hours that Yuki could, and would hog.

He returned the computer to it's original screen and moved across the lobby to the large, double wooden doors that barred entry to the great Seguchi's office. He rested his hand on the knob, taking another deep breath before carefully opening it, cracking it slightly so he could peer in.

Tohma was standing at the window, sipping a scotch. AT least, he assumed it was Tohma. He didn't know how many blond men ran around Japan in suits made of velvet, so tight you could see the curve of his ass perfectly, but he assumed it wasn't too many.

He opened the door fully and stepped in, silently shutting (and locking) the door behind him, still watching the figure at the window. Moving away from the door he slipped his hands into his pockets, leather jacket making a sound with the movement. Just in case though, he cleared his throat, the action turning into a choke as Tohma turned.

He was still the most beautiful man Yuki had ever seen in his life. "Angel..." he breathed, eyes glazing slightly as he stared at Tohma, a memory flashing into his mind with the force of a speeding train.

_Ten years ago..._

"You don't take music class, WHY are you here?" The burly blond football player asked his frat brother as he sat down in a desk, slumping slightly.

Yuki looked up, barely, peering at Marcus over the history textbook he had been reading. "I'm in Japanese History. As the guest is Japanese, I get extra credit for listening to some old guy drone on about mixing traditional music with modern rock."

"Ooooh, nice. Wish I got that."

"You take easy classes, when you have to study eight books for a one semester class, then you can talk about extra credit.

The blond flipped Yuki off before slumping in his seat. "I was supposed to have a date tonight."

"Aww, poor baby, cheerleader, sorority girl or random slut?" He said, looking slightly disgusted.

Marcus smirked and leaned on his arm. "Your ex."

"Ew, have her, I think she has herpes though so watch out." Yuki said before returning his attention back to the textbook, ignoring the movement out of the corner of his eye of Marcus shaking his head. Both men's attention was drawn to the stage for the briefest of moments as the Dean of Music stepped up to the podium, but was soon lost as the man's monotone and rather bland speech went on. Marcus went back to perfecting sleeping with his eyes open while Yuki's' eyes wondered around the room, soon landing on a small blond male sitting primly on the stage, gloved hands in his lap.

He was...beautiful. Shining, golden...a feather trimmed angel sitting oh so perfectly in the chair, staring intently at the Dean as if he was the most fascinating man in the world.

Yuki's tounge darted out, wetting suddenly dry lips, and the voice in his ear, hot breath ghosting over his cheek and neck almost caused him to scream. Jumping he turned to look at Marcus, who smirked and repeated his whispered words.

"He's not your type, lover boy...what with being of legal age and that."

Yuki made a face, looking down at the blond again. "I can make an exception..." he said before smirking. "Besides, he looks young enough to be jail bait."

This time it was Marcus' turn to make a face, this one slightly creeped out and disgusted. "One day, Kitazawa, you're boy love appreciation will get you into trouble."

"It's worth it, if I can get someone like him." Yuki said, not really believing Marcus' words. After all, what was the worst that could happen?


	6. Dates of the Past

**Chapter Six: Dates from the Past**

_In America sex is an obsession, in other parts of the world it is a fact. _ _-Marlene Dietrich _

Tohma had never seen so many bored faces collectively staring at him in hopeful expectation in all his life. Understandably, most of the students here were present by force or necessity-- very few here were attending because they had a sincere interest in the Presidential Lecture Series, and even less of an interest in what he had to say. The music Dean didn't seem daunted by the lack of enthusiasm in the crowd, and neither was Tohma.

But, Tohma was engrossed in what the Dean of Music said. Overall, Tohma found the President's speech on the importance of cultural appreciation through the arts a very enlightening one. Maybe that was the musician in him, though.

When it was finally his time to talk, he rose to his feet amid the scattered and halfhearted clapping of the uninspired audience. Bowing to them, he demurely made his way to the state and presented a sweet and innocent smile.

"Forgive me, my English is not that good," he bid them, speaking in his soft but strong voice, which he followed up with a giggle for good measure.

Nothing wrong with starting the speech with a white lie. His English was perfect and he knew it. But, the giggle that followed his polite request was far more charming, he thought, than boisterousness. You did kill flies easier with honey than you did with vinegar. Even more, Tohma was a professional at a microphone, so he knew just how to lean in and at what volume his voice was most appropriate to be heard but not too loudly.

It had only been a week ago that an associate of his had offered him a vacation in New York and the chance to lecture at the University. That associate, Toshi, was an acquaintance of the Dean-- the both of them having graduated from the same University. Originally, Toshi had been offered the lecture due to his connection with the Dean, but he had to turn it down due to another already planned and agreed to appearance.

Tohma had been ready to turn it down. He didn't have any particular interest in a vacation to the states or a University lecture.

Were it not for the fact that Ryuichi had overheard the discussion and passionately pleaded with him to accept and take him along, threatening to never speak to him again if he did not, Tohma would have kindly refused. As Ryuichi had repeated again and again, he desperately wanted to see the United States. Tohma had a dreadfully hard time saying no when Ryuichi was staring up at him with a set and dark pout face, Kumagorou's ear growing sloppy between his gnawing teeth.

Fearing that soon the entire ear would be chewed off, he had no choice but to soothe Ryuichi's disgruntled frown with a smile and acquiescence. Kumagorou was then thrown aside, Ryuichi's arms tossed around his neck for a tight, happy hug.

Ryuichi was always at his sweetest when he had what he wanted.

Bags packed, byes waved to Noriko, the two had set off. Tohma had tried to prepare Ryuichi beforehand by warning him that the flight would be very, very long, but Ryuichi had assured him that he could handle it, he could handle anything, right Kumagorou? With bunny and singer in agreement, Tohma stood no chance of convincing and thus preparing otherwise.

Though, as soon as they got on the plane, he ordered both himself and Ryuichi a drink, juice for Kumagorou with a straw. Tohma had experience to know that the alcohol would work to make Ryuichi a bit more sluggish and slow, perhaps enough with subsequent drinks that he would fall into a deep, drunk sleep. Then, hopefully, Ryuichi would spend the bulk of the slight curled up in his seat passed out.

As Ryuichi slept, Tohma had time to prepare his speech. It was supposed to be on Japanese music and theater, which Tohma did know a lot about. He felt qualified to make the speech, so he was confident in the words he wrote out. One at a time, the threads of his oration came together into a cohesive and succinct generalization of Japanese music and theater. There was no way in an hour he could cover the entire spectrum of Japanese cultural tradition, but he could give a good synthesis of the concepts.

Which was where he was at now, his accented voice carried through the microphone out of the electronic speakers. Every word of his carefully prepared lecture was spilling out as fluid like it was natural, but easy as if he had not practiced but merely stood before them to speak from the thoughts right in his head. He kept his hands on the podium, resting lightly, unfidgety. Nothing was more distracting to an audience than a speaker who moved around nervously. Plus, it was a sign of discomfort, of weakness, and Tohma refused to show such a thing to these novices.

Besides, he was perfectly at ease.

He wasn't even worried that Ryuichi was out alone in New York, possibly getting himself into some very expensive trouble that he'd have to no doubt rescue him from.

But, what were friends for?

Unworried, comfortable, and confident, he rattled off the history of Japanese music. He told them about Gagaku, about the Biwa, about the importance of the drums and chants in Noh, about how the first Geisha were male Shamisen players, about Kabuki, about Koto, and the Minya folk songs. He gave them so many facts that he was sure their heads were spinning with the amount of information, of which they wouldn't be able to remember this time tomorrow. Accompanied with selections of music and video to be played behind him, showing the various dances and array of dances, he was satisfied with how he had done by the time everything was through and he gave a final bow.

He suspected the clapping was more due to happiness that his speech was finally over than in appreciation for his enlightening lecture.

Ah well.

He followed the Dean from the stage, through the curtain, backstage. The Dean began to coat him with compliments on his poise, his articulation, his grasp of the English language, and his knowledge-- smiling and touching his arm and back in a way that Tohma found quite unsettling. Tohma found himself giving his usual plastic smile, subtly shaking off the petting, thanking the man even as he began to walk for the door.

Honestly, he wanted to make a break to go find Ryuichi.

Ryuichi had a certain aptness for causing trouble, for getting into situations that he couldn't get himself out of. The second he was off the stage, trying to divert the Dean's attention away from him, he had his phone out and flipped through to make sure he hadn't missed any calls from either Ryuichi or a place wherein Ryuichi could currently be held in custody. It was no less relaxing to find no such messages because that meant he had no idea where Ryuichi was.

And Ryuichi never remembered to carry his phone with him.

Tohma had been in too much of a hurry this morning to check his pockets to make sure Ryuichi had his credit card, his phone, and his slip of paper with helpful English phrases. Ryuichi was quite fond of the English language and he was determined to learn it, but for now Tohma still felt more comfortable giving him a list of things to tell or ask people in strange situations. Ryuichi, for all his experience and knowledge, had a certain naivety about him that made Tohma afraid-- it was so easy for him to be coaxed into something with the promise of fun.

Sighing, he put his useless phone down at his side, blinking in the Dean's face and moving lips. Despite that the man was speaking, Tohma was not listening. Forcing himself to, he smiled and gave a soft, "hm" that prompted the Dean to pause, rewind, and immediately repeat himself.

"Can I treat you to lunch?"

Tohma immediately wanted to say no-- it was instinctual for him to refuse an offer from a man like him. But, on the other hand, he knew how valuable networking was. In the end, the business side of Tohma overrode the personal side of him and he found himself giving a sweet smile and a nod, gratefully thanking the man for and accepting his invitation.

That was how he found himself in a Dining and Social center of the University.

The smell of coffee and fried foods was thick in the air, and the voices were so loud and constant that it was just one perpetual, nonsensical roar all around him. As he gazed down at the thoroughly unappetizing food, he wondered what he was going to grab that wouldn't make him feel too sick. Everything looked too oily or too mountainous for his tastes.

He didn't want to touch any of it let alone ingest it.

Finally, he managed to point to some safe looking mildly seasoned rice and chicken. He was still very trepidatious about it, but it was the only thing on the menu that didn't make him feel sick to start with. Taking the tray with a smile and a bow, he instantly hated everything about this. Just carrying the blue plastic tray seemed common and low class, which he loathed to be associated in any way with.

Holding in his contempt, he asked for coffee to drink from the miserable looking aged women who sat on a stool next to the primitive cash register.

Tohma sighed inside, counting his patience like he did yen notes: one at a time. It was all he could do as he stood there waiting while the Dean of Music paid for their meals.

Yuki had watched the speech enraptured, every moment, every sound from the blond angel below drawing his attention. He studied the curves of that fine body, hidden away by the podium, only seen when the man took the slightest of shifts (and there weren't enough of those to suit Yuki's hunger). He studied the face when the body was hidden away, and allowed the voice to sink into his hearing, flavoring everything.

And the little liar spoke perfect English.

As the speech started to wind down he slipped from his seat and down the aisle way, attempting to discreetly make it to the backstage before the blond finished and vanished.

Unfortunately, as he tried for stealth, it also took him longer and he caught up just as the blond was agreeing to dinner with the Dean.

Bastard. And he couldn't believe such a beautiful angel had just agreed to dinner with that pervert.

But small roadblocks were nothing, and Yuki was quite adept at stalking his prey. After a brief conference with Marcus and the entrusting of his books (and a few threats regarding their safety), he was off again, following the duo, looking for an opportunity to steal his angel away.

As well as plans for seducing said angel once the theft was committed.

Such an opportunity presented itself as the dean was busy paying. Yuki smiled, studying the flash of disgust and irritence over the blond one's face before it was hidden by a mask, and Yuki moved in to make his move, leaning around Tohma and deftly lifting the tray from his hands.

"One such as yourself should NOT be made to carry their own tray," he breathed in Tohma's ear, calling on the years of Japanese lessons on his mother's lap and hoping he got his pronunciations correct. "They should have servants to do such tasks so they may be beautiful and hands free from any slipped food."

That sounded charming enough...

Tohma was shocked to feel the breath against his ear and even more to hear the softly spoken Japanese with just a hint of an accent in it. Before he could even protest, his not too heavy tray but gaudily ugly tray was being lifted from his hands and taken away.

His first thought was, _Does he really expect me to be charmed with a line like that?_

The speech was so, so thick in cliche and awkwardly formal. Tohma couldn't help but give a soft laugh as he turned to look over his shoulder to face the boy who'd been bold enough to attempt to charm him with such strange compliments.

Still, it was cute.

Before Tohma could get a word out, the Dean of Music was well ahead of him. Stuffing his credit card recipit into the back pocket of his stiff and pressed black slacks, the Dean wore what was perhaps to be a very intimidating frown. It might have even been, but Tohma couldn't tell. Nothing intimidated him.

"What are you doing with his tray?" he demanded, having heard nothing of the one sided exchange of words or Tohma's so-far compliance with this student's graciousness.

"Oh, it's fine," Tohma assured in a soothing, soft voice, waving a hand and completing the head turn. Who he saw was a clean cut, young, cute college student who definitely seemed to have some Japanese in him. There were distinctive features such as the eyes that gave away a hint of the nationality in him. "I told him that he could take it."

The Dean didn't seem convinced, but there was no way that he could respectfully argue against it, so he was forced to just let the matter drop for good. Nodding his head, he grabbed his own try. "Well, then let him follow us to a table."

"Follow us to the table," Tohma echoed with only slight modification to the phrase. And though he didn't say it, the implications of a following _slave boy_ was obvious in his speech. This kid should consider himself lucky Tohma didn't request that he prostrate himself on his elbows and knees to bow himself to the floor until his forehead pressed against the dirty, shoe-scuffed tile.

It was almost unbearably gauche that he had to sit in the cafeteria among the students to eat lunch. From a tray. This Dean certainly did NOT know how to properly treat a man such as him to a meal.

At least the table he selected for them was somewhat isolated from a group of riotous jocks. As much as Tohma did admire their young, muscular arms, he couldn't stand their crude personalities.

"Thank you for carrying my tray," Tohma said in his best and most polite voice, the one he had been using for all of today.

Yuki kept his 'I'm completely innocent and a lovable school boy' smile plastered on his lips during the conversation and subsequent walk to the table the dean had chosen, trying not to make a face at the idea that this beautiful shining man could be charmed by such...well, a man such as the Dean was the only way he could think to put it in his head without using crude profanity.

Ignoring the thrill he got at the blond's order, passing it off as a weird fluke, he fiddled with Tohma's tray for a moment before following those swaying hips as they walked.

Once the blond was seated he set the food down, though only after carefully removing it from the tray, placing each selection properly as if they were being seated for a fine dining experience.

He then placed the napkin and silverware just so, giving a low bow to both men. "I enjoyed you speech, thank you for the honor of hearing it." he said, straightening.

Not wanting to intrude and have the Dean find a reason to prowl around with his own dean of studies and academic advisors he turned to return the tray and grab something to eat himself, whistling.

The black markings inside the napkin had bled through nicely, to get Tohma's attention to the name and phone number inside.

Leaning against the wall, waiting in line for a fresh tray, he watched Tohma in the reflection of a dark window, studying the man. He had never wanted anyone, man woman or child, more then he wanted that vision.

_TBC _


	7. What Was and What Is

**Chapter Seven: What Was and What Is**

_Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing.-- Anais Nin_

Ryuichi still wasn't home.

When Tohma had arrived home to their large, temporary hotel room, he'd noticed the bright pink cellphone resting on the table next to an opened box of sugary cereal. It was Ryuichi's phone, which meant that Ryuichi did not have it on him.

He tried to remind himself that Ryuichi was still an adult, even given his penchant for acting like a child. Besides, police stations had phones and surely Ryuichi could call him as his one phone call if something bad were to happen.

Busying himself, he made himself a cup of hot, fragrant tea. There was nothing more relaxing after a long day as a cup of hot tea and a bag of salty potato chips, which Tohma also brought back with himself to the couch. Removing his gloves by tugging on the fingers one by one, he slipped them off and placed them on the table next to the steaming, delicate tea cup. Tearing open the bag of chips, he dug in and pulled one out, crunching it quietly, thoroughly enjoying the greasy saltiness.

As he shifted to remove the pocket watch from his side suit coat pocket, he felt the thin, soft texture of the folded napkin that rested inside, protected by the heavy metal of his expensive pocket watch.

He'd put it there during his plebeian lunch with the music Dean.

Tohma had almost missed it, in fact, as he opened it up to spread it over his lap as a layer of protection against the god awful food he was about to consume. But, as he unfolded, he noticed something stark and black. Thinking that it might be the lettering of the school, he gazed down.

The ink was black and bleeding, the handicraft of a pen, not of a printshop. It was a name. And a number. Blinking, his brain went to work and processed what he was looking at. He put two and two together and connected the napkin with the cute, young Japanese man who had helped him with his tray.

Something went through his back and spine like electricity, just as thrilling as if someone had just given him a mild jolt. He ventured a glance up, but couldn't see the younger man anywhere. Quickly, he refolded the napkin so that the Dean wouldn't catch sight of it-- not that the Dean had any place in his personal life nor the lives of other adults, but he'd rather not deal with any comments or judgments.

And now, all alone in his five star hotel room with a bag of chips and tea, he stared again at the numbers on the napkin.

He questioned his own rationale and logic. The young man could be 18, barely an adult, not even old enough to drink for all he knew. While Tohma had no problem seeing younger men, there did have to be some sort of standard for how low you would go. Generally, 'legal' was the cut off, but he was always a bit hesitant with anyone under the age of 21.

But, the young man had been cute. Very cute. Cheesy romantic lines aside, he had seen a bit of dangerous playfulness in the stare he'd caught. The young man, Yuki (which he knew from the napkin), had known that he was spilling corny lines, but he'd been so shameless about it. Tohma thought that was cute. The stare had been breathtaking, though, and that was what was sending electrical jolts through his body right now. Eyes that told him that if he could, he'd grab him right then and there and do all manner of illicit things to him.

Tohma was glad that he was alone. He and Ryuichi were by no means in any sort of relationship, but Ryuichi could be jealous sometimes. He supposed he was the same way with Ryuichi, too.

Then there was also the fact that he had a finance waiting for him in Japan. Uesugi Mika was the oldest child and only daughter of a Buddhist monk in Kyoto. They barely knew each other, but he was supposed to go to see her once his vacation was over. Both his father and the elder Uesugi were putting on the pressure. They both wanted him to settle down and start having children. They both wanted him to accept a job offer and make staggering amounts of money being Boss of something, supporting himself and his family until the day he died like any respectable Japanese man who put in two shifts a day.

So, how did you tell your father and the other father's waiting on you that you were gay, that you wanted to be a music star, and that you were in love with someone who had brown hair and a pink bunny, not the girl you were arranged to marry? He knew his responsibilities and his obligations. He'd accepted them a long time ago. Ryuichi called that weak and stupid because he should be able to live the life he wanted. That was the only source of the fights that they had, which usually ended up with Ryuichi storming out with a, 'well, then marry some stupid girl and be miserable the rest of your life in an ugly suit.'

Ryuichi was right, though. The life he was heading towards was so far from the life that he wanted, he couldn't yet figure out how to mix his wants with the expectations placed on his shoulders.

He just buried it all. By day he was the smiling only son of a powerful Japanese shipping mogul, smart and accredited with a hopeful future and a pretty young finance. By night, he shoved it all underneath the rug. It was safely buried underneath hedonism and alcohol. Hours of dancing in skimpy tight clothing, vodka, and cute men to take to a small, trendy apartment in the middle of the city were his reprieve.

Turning his own cell phone over in his hands, he weighed the pros and the cons of turning the phone on, dialing the number, and speaking to the cute college student.

This was different.

The men he met were usually found on a sweaty dance floor. They spent one night together, never exchanging names and formalities. It was about sweat and pleasure, nothing more. He never called them before or afterwards, or knew anything about them beyond what they shared for a few hours at night. It was safe that way.

Through the curtains, he could see the sun going down. The sky was purple and pink, like a painting of jigsaw puzzle. Parts of the world were going to sleep as others woke up.

With a sigh, he thumb went to work punching in numbers, dialing what was written on the napkin. Pressing the phone to his ear, he put the chips down next to the neglected and chilling tea. He told himself that this was his one call. If no one picked up, he'd never call back. If someone did... well, he wasn't sure what then, but he'd figure it out sooner or later.

--

"Late, late, late, late, AOKO! Where the hell did you set my shirt?!"

The girl that had been bellowed for finished dabbing hot pink dye on a braid before poking her head out of the bathroom, silently pointing at her roommate's shirt, which was hanging innocently on his doorknob.

"Goddess!" Yuki declared, grabbing the shirt and darting back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The door opened again to deposit a small, brunette boy outside of it before closing again.

Yoshiki stuck his tounge out at the door before toddling towards Aoko, footy pj's causing him to slide a bit on the hard wood flooring. "A'ko! I wanna watch!"

Aoko smiled and picked up the small boy, setting him on the sink so he had a good view of her dying her braids. "What shall we get for dinner, squirt?" she asked.

"Teddy wants Pizza!" Yoshiki said, holding up the teddy bear.

Yuki smiled as he heard the exchange from his bedroom, pulling the silk shirt on, buttoning it half way before trying to find his necklace.

Necklace found and on, boots stomped into and laced and wallet located in Yoshiki's room, he stopped by the bathroom long enough to kiss his brother and hug Aoko before grabbing his jacket and house keys before dashing out of the apartment and down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He was two minutes late when he arrived at the bar they had agreed to meet at over the phone. He scanned the heads of the patrons sitting around, looking for a blond head, before realizing that wasn't really a distinctive way to find someone.

So he circulated a bit, scanning everyone, before finally locating someone in enough sparkles and feathers to be Tohma Seguchi. Smiling, he straightened his leather jacket before approaching his date, offering the rose before speaking, not wanting to be yelled at for being late.

It was all Yoshiki's fault! Not that he would ever admit that aloud. He was too fond of his tiny brother to blame him.

"Sorry, traffic was horrible." he said softly, breath brushing over Tohma's ear. "It would have been easier to run here, but I didn't want to smell."

He waved the bartender over, getting them both a glass of scotch, before taking the barstool next to Tohma, doing his best to look apologetic.

He pulled out his cigarettes and lighter, but didn't light one, unsure of Tohma's opinion on smoking. Instead he grabbed his drink when it was brought, sipping it, watching Tohma out of the corner of his eye.

When they had talked, no real plans had been set for the evening, both preferring to see where it when from time to time, but Yuki was starting to wish they had at least agreed on food. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and that had been the last banana in the house. Neither he nor Aoko got paid until next week, and Aoko was trying to save what little they did have to feed Yoshiki, a thought Yuki fully agreed with.

Even if it dead leave him starving and putting this date on his 'emergency' credit card.

He was going to have to call Vinny tomorrow, see if the man had any jobs Yuki could perform for some quick cash. Vinny always had jobs really, it just depended on how dirty you were willing to get your hands.

But that was tomorrow and tonight was tonight and tonight, he was having an evening out with an angelic beauty.

--

Tohma left Ryuichi a brief note, putting it underneath the cell phone that Ryuichi had forgotten when he'd gone out. It was a carefully written letter, his handwriting immaculate even in its informality, with a general, 'going out, be back later' message and a heart.

Then, he'd caught a cab, stuffing his cell phone back into his pocket with his wallet just in case Ryuichi had an emergency. No matter how well the 'date' went along, he'd still race out without hesitation should Ryuichi need him for any important and dire reason.

Which, for Ryuichi, could mean getting ice cream.

He'd arrived with five minutes to spare. Yet to remove his coat, he settled at the bar. The winter chill of New York was bitter, though one would think with as cold as Tokyo could get, he would be used to it. But, he was used to the Tokyo cold. The New York cold was still new to him. The hot bar was sinking into his flesh, though, and melting him slowly.

He didn't sit there checking his watch... he didn't have to. Tohma could tell how much time was passing just by the span of activity that was around him. But, he didn't mind if Yuki were a bit late. Though Tohma was a very punctual person, he realized that not everyone was. You have to give a few minutes here or there.

Soon enough, a rose was thrust infront of his face and he heard a voice. The voice wasn't familiar since he'd only heard it once before, but he knew that it was his 'date' for the evening.

"You're not that late," Tohma assured, accepting the scotch. He sipped from it demurely, fingering the rose with his other hand, twirling it. He thought the gesture was sweet, considerate. No one had ever given him flowers before, certainly not someone who was barely a man.

Tilting his head to the side, he made a soft humming sound. "Would you like to go to a club?" He wasn't sure what sort of guy Yuki was, and what his level of nightlife experience was, though part of him wanted Yuki to be fairly innocent of such things because he was so, so much fun to help corrupt someone.

"Sounds like a great idea," Yuki said, smiling at Tohma, reaching out to finger that silky blond hair that had been taunting him before draining his scotch.

"Anywhere in particular you had in mind? I'm not...familiar with the local night life." he said, a faint blush over his cheeks.

He couldn't exactly go out on the town that often, between trying to study for school and taking care of his small brother.

He ordered them another round just to get them going, not that he suspected Tohma needed it. Tohma seemed to him the sort of man that could throw himself into anything, be it work, play or any other adventure that may come to call for the pixish little blond.

He drained the next scotch just as quickly as the first one, fidgiting with his cigarettes and lighter, the nicotine receptors in his body hungry for the drug but he couldn't do anything that might ruin his chances of getting to know the angel next to him in a more...personal fashion.

"Unless you want to eat first, we could grab a bite at a near-by cafe..." Yuki offered, trying to stave off his stomach from eating itself and trying to figure out a cheap yet 'cool' idea for a place to eat. Maybe one of those little retro diners, it wouldn't be as high class as he was sure his angel was used to, but it would be something fun.

And maybe his date liked cheap, fast, fattening foods, though probably not with that body. He wished he had paid attention more to the blond's speech, it probably would have given some indication of what he might like...not that Tohma's date preferances would be detailed during the speech on music but Yuki was quite good at reading between the lines.

Damn Tohma, distracting him with his sexy body and beautiful voice.

Tohma cast Yuki a sideways glance, eyeing his waist as he rest his scotch glass against his lips, contemplating the idea of going out to get something to eat before they hit a club. Yuki did look a little thin and hungry.

He realized the plight of college students who were too poor to afford ample meals, sustaining themselves on ramen noodles and water. Now that he thought about it, he didn't remember seeing Yuki eating anything in the cafeteria while he was there.

So, chances were, Yuki probably hadn't eaten today, or had eaten just a little bit.

It would be the kind thing to get something to eat first. He hardly wanted Yuki to run out of energy before the fun even began.

"I saw a cute bakery down the street," Tohma said with a smile, setting down his empty scotch glass, waving his hand that he didn't want any more to the bartender. The bakery seemed quiet and clean with high quality food. "Let's go there."

Tohma had eaten there the other day and adored their french onion soup. He wanted something that would settle lightly in his stomach since he planned on having a very sweaty and very active night out. Heavy, greasy foods would make him ill, especially once the heat of a club sunk in.

Fishing out his wallet, he pulled out a few bills to pay for their drinks and tip the bartender. There was no need to make Yuki pay since he had been the one to call and ask for a date. Plus, something told him that Yuki didn't have a lot of money to splurge on a night out. If he couldn't afford to eat lunch or dinner, he certainly couldn't afford to take someone out for dinner and then dancing (which meant buying drink after drink).

"That sounds wonderful," Yuki said with relif, smiling at Tohma before reaching his hand out, brushing it gently over Tohma's cheek. "Forgive me," he whispered.

He then leaned in, pressing his lips against the blond's oh so soft ones, trying not to groan as the first taste of the beautiful angel exploded over his lips.

He had been aching to do that (and more) since he first met the blond and finally the taunting sight of Tohma's lips had become to much, forcing him to take action.

He kept the kiss light, lips barely brushing, before slowly pulling away, licking his lips to get that final taste. "I've been wanting to do that all night." he whispered, giving a final brush of his fingers before moving back to an appropriate distance.

"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm to the blond.

Tohma decided that he would have to get used to the forwardness of American men. He'd always been interested in them on a strictly physical level, but being around them and personally interacting with them was an entirely new experience. Living within a sea of the same dark Japanese eyes and dark Japanese hair, he'd seen America as a haven of undaunted male variety. Here in American, you could get blond, red, brown, and every variation in between, in addition to a plethora of skin tones and body shapes.

That was part of the reason he had been so eager to come here.

"We shall," Tohma consented, rising to slip his arm through Yuki's. Since Yuki was offering to play escort tonight, Tohma was willing to take him up on that offer. After all, nothing wrong with having a cute, young college student court you around for the night. He wasn't at all ashamed at himself for taking full advantage of the unsanctioned virility of manly youth.

If anything, that promised more fun for later.

"I want... french onion soup and a baguette," he chattered, leading the way out of the bar. The patrons were probably happy to get rid of the two 'kissing men,' anyway, and Tohma was glad to leave. He needed food in his empty stomach, which would provide sustenance for a night of dancing at a club that had no problem at all with two kissing men.

Yes, not even two nights in New York and not only did Tohma already have a date, but he also knew the directions to the nearest sandwich bakery and gay night club.

Yuki smiled, leading Tohma to the cafe and getting them a table, waving over one of the young waitress', passing Tohma a small paper menu. "Two coffee's," he ordered, not specifying but knowing the woman would bring the cafe's specialty Arabian coffee, a thick, syrupy liquid that would easily fuel the pair. It Tohma didn't enjoy it, he would simply drink both and order the blond something else.

Yuki was used to...dominating his dates, but that could have been from the fact most of his dates were far, far younger then Tohma was. He nuzzled Tohma's neck teasingly, going with the idea of being himself and Tohma could either like it...or never see him again. Either way, Yuki wasn't a fan of playing games and pretending to be some innocent little waif who blushed at the idea of even holding hands.

"You smell peppermint," Yuki whispered in Tohma's ear, amused. It could have been the blond's toothpaste, but it amused him, his favorite scent and taste on such a delicious looking blond.

The waitress came back to the table, setting the tall mugs of coffee down, her pen tapping against the pad as she looked down at them. "Ready to order, sweethearts?"

"Mm, I'll have whatever the cute blond is having," Yuki said, smiling up at the girl who winked back before she turned to Tohma, running her eyes over the lithe little body before her. Yuki raised an eyebrow at that and plucked the menu out of Tohma's hands, pulling him into a kiss before giving the girl a charming smile. "He'll have French onion soup and a baguette, which means I will as well." he said, remembering Tohma's request from the walk suddenly, though in his defense, he had been distracted by his breathtaking date.

She pouted, turning on her heel, annoyed that the only good looking men in the cafe were apparently together, getting their meals.

"Sorry," Yuki apologized, apparently realizing he seemed a little...possessive. He was, by nature possessive, but some people were odd about things like that, especially on first dates. Glancing at Tohma out of the corner of his eye, he hoped that this would be the first date amongst many, despite his...quirks.

--

Just like he had on his first date with Yuki, Tohma stared over the rim of his glass at familiar eyes with familiar hair falling down over them in a charming and intellectual mess. Tohma could remember a scene almost like this one… except in the other picture, he was smiling in demure and amused assurance, accepting Yuki's apology for being possessive and dominating, which was something the soft spoken but powerful man had never been treated to.

But, in this one, this moment, his face flashed with a hot scowl seconds before it went blank. Calm.

Tohma always went completely calm when he was consumed by rage. Not a finger on him quivered to give it away, and that was the sign of danger. When Tohma went cold and calm, he was seething inside. It wasn't even the anger in his eyes, which he had always learned to control, it was the unblinking intensity. The stare.

The stare down game.

Tohma never looked away first. Ever.

With a steady hand, he set his glass down on his finely polished desk. The only sounds in the room were the glass against the table and his expensive shoes against the floor. Both hands lowered palm down and pressed to the shining surface, gripping the edge of the desk with tapered, white knuckles. The dark wood reflected the entire room like a pool of water or glass. Peering over at Yuki, he stared for a long and quiet moment.

Finally speaking with perfect, soft articulation, he cocked his head to the side.

"I wasn't amused the first time you did this, Yoshiki, and I'm certainly not amused now. It wasn't entertaining when you did this to Eiri. You're very lucky that I didn't kill you for making him cry right then… you should send a thank you card to Sakano for stopping me. And, I'm not entertained now. Please get out of my office before I have security come and get you. Trust me, Yoshiki, you don't want me to resort to that. The security exit is on the top floor. It's a very long, long,… long way down to the ground from up there."

There was only one living person who looked like this man, after all. Yoshiki, when his breasts were taped down and his hair was cut underneath a baseball cap, looked exactly like his dead older brother. What stood across the room was a perfect replica of Yuki. The height was exact, the waist was just the size he remembered, the hair the very same shade. Even the way the eyes blinked and the hands moved were mimicked perfectly.

That was what made him angriest of all. The exactness of this farce.

The last thing that he wanted to look at was a replica of Yuki. He hated it with every fiber in his body, but he wanted it just as badly and hated it that this was a game. His anger was the culmination of all three strong emotions: an absolute want so strong that his body was numb as it revolted against the fact that this was a lie, a sadness that gave him the urge to scream that he wanted this to be real because if it weren't he'd never be able to breathe again, and a stomach turning revulsion mingled with hatred and swimming plans for revenge.

His want had nothing to do with desire or sexuality, it was an emotional want. An aching, internal want. A want to wrap his arms around and feel familiar curves, a want to breathe in the smell and know it was from just who he wanted it to be… a want to be able to say, 'this is real and all the rest was a nightmare that I can wake up from.'

But, Tohma knew that none of this was real.

Because he also wanted to kill Yuki. Seeing Yoshiki like this made him all too willing to let Yoshiki take his brother's place in that, too. Yuki had a lot to atone for. If Yoshiki wanted to play this game, he'd have to take it all the way. Someone had to pay for what happened to Eiri. Since he couldn't punish Yuki, he was all too happy to punish Yoshiki in his place.

"I'll even give you ten seconds to turn around and leave," Tohma murmured.

_TBC_

The authors wish to thank those that have been patient, all this time _  
_


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